


It's a Terrible Afterlife

by uncelestial



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Death, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Ghost Castiel, Ghost Dean, M/M, Oblivious Sam, POV Castiel, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:44:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncelestial/pseuds/uncelestial
Summary: The mysterious ghost Castiel Novak would have happily coexisted with the human who moved into his house, if not for the fact that Sam Winchester himself was being haunted. The recently deceased Dean Winchester seems hellbent on throwing Castiel's carefully constructed order into chaos and contacting his still-breathing brother. Despite his insistence to hate Dean, Castiel can't deny the strange connection between them. When a dangerous threat comes knocking on his door, he might have to accept that Dean is the only one who can save them both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is the first story I'm posting here! Wow, I'm excited! I only have a vague outline of where this is going, but it's been very fun to write so far. I hope you like it! I don't have a beta, so there may be mistakes, I did my best to catch as many as I could.

If Castiel is honest, he loves his new housemate. Sam is just the right type of person Castiel wants to inhabit his space. Kind, polite, smart. Sam has a near endless supply of books to flip through, and he is just the right side of rational that he ignores the occasional door left open or light flicker. It is an old house, after all. Stairs creak, floorboards squeak, there are strange drafts and other odd little quirks that make it unique. Castiel loves his home, and he is glad Sam seems to appreciate it as well. Castiel would like to thank him, but that is in clear violation of the Rules he has set for himself.

 

Rule #1: Don’t interact with the living.

 

Rules are important. They provide structure. They keep him safe. That is why, the day Castiel’s precious Rules are broken, he takes a stand.

 

It starts with a clanging, right in the middle of Castiel’s night reading session. He startles, flashing to Sam’s room to check that yes - the man is still asleep. Castiel floats down to the kitchen, the source of the clanging clear by the assortment of pots strewn across the tiled floor. Castiel will never admit to the mouth on his transparent form falling open, it must have been a trick of the light. What is not, however, is the bright form floating in front of him, digging through Sam’s cabinets.

 

“What’s a guy gotta do to get some grub around here?” A deep voice, a man then. Castiel glares with as much force as his ghostly form can muster.

 

“What are you doing?” He says coldly, adding a little push of wind for emphasis. Castiel is not, in fact, dramatic. He just happens to know how to get his point across. The other ghost stills, and his form turns to face Castiel, who can’t see much because the guy is too busy _glowing._ Which, Castiel notes, he has no business doing.

 

“What? I’m not… alone?” Came the almost whispering voice. Castiel’s glare doesn’t let up, he is not so easily swayed (Despite the sudden tug where his chest used to be). Then, swear to God, the strange ghost mutilating his kitchen starts to glow _brighter_. It hurts Castiel’s eyes. Or it would, if he had human eyes.

 

“Tone down your illumination.” Castiel tells him.

 

“Dude. Dude!” The other ghost ignores the order, the kitchen enveloped in a warm glow like daylight.  “That’s awesome!”

 

Castiel rips the other ghost to shreds in his mind. Snuffs this little light out like a candle. Who does he think he is? This is the last thing he’d ever want to invade his home. An insolent _pest_! Loud, ludicrous, and lacking any common sense. If Castiel had his way, the newcomer would be gone before the morrow.

 

“Considering your insistence on destroying my kitchen, it is not ‘awesome’”

 

“Did you just finger quote me? Are those your fingers? Oh cool! You almost look like an actual dude instead of a glow-y _thing."_

 

He appears to be referring to himself, Castiel figures out. It seems like he should not expect much eloquence from this acquaintance.

 

“It comes with time and practice.” Castiel states, voice still as cold as it had been at the start. The other ghost does not seem to be fazed.

 

“Well, nice to meet you old man, I’m Dean.”

 

 _Dean_. It fits. Arrogant. Infuriating. Castiel’s worst nightmare.

 

“I am technically thirty-two at the time of death.” He defends.

 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name then, Casper?”

 

Castiel blinks at that, narrowing his faded blue eyes in confusion. Was that a guess? No, _Dean_ said it like a joke, emphasized and brimming with pride. A reference that was lost somewhere in the air between them. Dean’s glow recedes a little in the silence, clearly disappointed at Castiel’s lack of reaction. Left waiting for the answer to his question to save the interaction.   _Expecting_ it even. Castiel refused to give him any of the satisfaction.

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

He seemed scandalized. Good, Castiel does not want him to win any of this conversation. Not that he thinks Dean realizes the battle of wills they’re in. For such a bright soul, he is exceedingly dim.

 

“Do not produce anymore noise, you’ll wake up Sam. And stop making a mess.”

 

“Good! I’ve been tryin’ to get through to that kid for months!”

 

Castiel flashes, wind whipping around him like a mini tornado. This _fool_ has tested his patience for far too long.

 

“Do you have a deathwish?” Castiel’s voice has gone beyond ice, into sharp as knives territory. Though the stormy timbre of his voice made it hard to hear the change. He always sounded and looked somewhat pissed off, but right now _he meant it_.

 

Dean chuckles, glow pulsing in delight. Castiel - shocked out of his rage - stares blankly until he stops. There is a long, awkward pause where neither of them move or make a sound. Until Dean breaks it with -

 

“That was a joke, right?”  


Castiel’s essence swirls and darts forward, gripping onto this - this _insolent little shit_.

 

“You listen to me, I will not have the exorcists on my doorstep because you decided it would be ‘fun’ to announce your presence. I don’t even know how you came to be here, in My House. But you will respect my rules. ”

 

Dean pats - goddamn pats - where Castiel’s shoulder is. Sending a strange feeling like shock-wave through the angry ghost's system.

 

“‘S okay Casper, Sammy won’t turn us in.” He sounds like he’s trying to be comforting.

 

Castiel socks him in the face. Well, he tries too. As it is, his hand just passes through, sending more shivers up and down his form. And not unwelcome shivers, either. The pleasurable tingling last only a moment, and then Castiel is pulling away and retreating - not running away -  to the attic.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel fails at snooping, but finds a few things out about his new housemate anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i totally Failed at updating this, yes i had a reason, yes i am very sorry and hope you forgive that and enjoy this chapter. and the ones to follow because i refuse to give up on this story in spite of outward circumstances.

By the time golden sunlight filters through the dusty attic window, Castiel has a plan. It’s simple really, and Castiel is glad he took some time away from the source of his rage _ to reflect _ . All he needs now is to find whatever object Dean is attached to and make sure it gets taken out with the rest of the trash. The thought of the bothersome ghost spending the rest of his life haunting a landfill stirs up some amusement in Castiel's long-dead heart.

 

Dean, thankfully, makes no appearance as the search begins. It had to be something of Sam’s that housed the intruding spirit. A stowaway hidden within the rest of the commotion and clutter brought in on the move-in day. Most of the furniture came with the house, so all that Sam brought were sentimental valuables, strange appliances, and miscellaneous necessities. Castiel was betting on finding his prize in the first category. Though he did spend an embarrassing amount of time pushing buttons on the fancy microwave trying to get a reaction.

 

He skips the still unpacked boxes and dives straight for the neatly arranged artifacts of Sam’s existence. In the main room, in front of the faded couch is what passes for a television nowadays - as evident by the static screen when Castiel turns it on. There’s a row of thin cases in the cabinet under the strangely flat television, bright pictures adorn their covers with some titles he vaguely recalls. All that sits inside the cases is a thin disk that Castiel can’t puzzle out. He stops looking at them after seeing ‘Ghostbusters’ on the front of one. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

 

Next to the TV is a bookshelf, half filled. Castiel knows what it holds, a shelf full of law books, and another two filled with worn paperbacks. He’s already finished reading most of them, even if he had no use for knowledge of law in the first place. But he skips over these to what few objects there are, pictures in frames, a deck of cards, and a statue of an angel.

 

He scoffs at the idea of the ghost residing in an angel and moves on to the cards. Faded on the edges but still usable, there’s nothing special about them. The pictures take a longer inspection. There are some of Sam and a group of people in front of a large building. School, perhaps? Another of Sam and a slightly shorter man in a leather jacket. And the last an old photo of a blonde woman and a gruff man smiling happily.  He runs a wispy finger along the frame, frowning slightly. 

 

“Whatcha doin’?”

 

Castiel jumps and spins around to face Dean, picture held behind his back. Dean is different today. More solid. But that’s impossible! It took Castiel years to achieve his current form. Still, there was no denying the sudden blurring outline of strong arms and a broad chest that faces him.

 

“Nothing.” Castiel snaps back.

 

“Doesn’t look like nothing. You snoopin’ on Sammy or something?” The scowl on Castiel’s face deepens as he hears the lazy drawl. It had nothing to do with the shiver it gave him.

 

Before he can move, Dean has darted around him and grabbed the picture from his hands. Holding it up like a trophy, he starts to glow again. 

 

“Y’er a real bad liar Casper.” There's an audible grin in those words, and Castiel feels himself get hot with embarrassment.

 

“I have a right. This is  _ my _ house.” He says, with all the pride he can muster.

 

“Not anymore,” Dean says, then points lazily to the law books, “I’m sure those don’t have anything about keeping deeds after you’re dead.”

 

“Of course not.” Castiel mutters. “They’re all for criminal law.”

 

“What?”

 

God. Why? Maybe this was supposed to be his version of eternal damnation. Castiel  _ had  _ believed in the afterlife before he died. He just didn’t expect to wake up exactly where he’d last been, in his own bed. Barely a wisp of blue air, but still there. And there he stayed. He watched his mother cry and Chuck sell the house. He even saw Mike and Luc and Gabe come by to dig through and see if their dad had given him anything valuable. He hadn’t, though not for lack of trying. Chuck was a generous man, and a good step-father. Castiel just didn’t want any of it. Except for the house.  _ His _ house. His only safe haven.

 

He becomes aware of Dean waving one of his newly-formed arms in front of his eyes and swats it down. There was that feeling again...the indescribably good electricity that ran up his arm when he touched Dean. He gathered by the silence that Dean had felt something too. Why was he even hoping for that?

 

“Hey Cas.”

 

Castiel frowns at the unfamiliar title. “Cas?”

 

“Short for Casper, you know, until you remove the stick from your ass and tell me your real name.” Dean crossed his arms defiantly, but Cas -  _ Castiel  _ gets the impression he’s still grinning.

 

“Never. I swear to you Dean…” He fumbles a bit, realizing he has no idea what Dean’s last name is. Not that he needed such information. Other than to curse it.

 

“Winchester.” Comes the teasing prompt from the other spectre.

 

“Dean Winchester. You will never get anything from me. Not my name. And most certainly not my house.” Castiel says, his tone and intent serious. Only to gape when Dean’s form quivers and he laughs, with his whole form. 

 

“Cas, you’re a hoot and a half!” Dean exclaims. Clapping Castiel’s shoulder as if they were old friends, only to pull back like he was shocked. Which would be an accurate description if he was getting the same reaction Castiel was. Did this happen to all ghosts who touched? There was certainly no research on the subject, and Castiel didn’t have the resources to conduct his own. It’s not like he would _ ever  _ invite another ghost here when this one was already a _ handful and a half.  _ Dean Winchester had no right to be here in the first place.

 

“Wait -” Castiel felt the realization as an uncomfortable bubbling in his stomach. Oh no. Winchester. The name he had watched be scrawled neatly onto a paper signing his house away. Giving away the deed to some stranger - who only by miracle turned out to be nice and neat and perfectly suited to Castiel’s tastes. “Winchester..?”

 

“Just figured that one out huh?” Dean teased - always teasing - making fun of Castiel, the way he spoke, the way he was. Dean was just as bad as Castiel’s half-brothers. “Yeah. Sam’s my brother.” 

 

Dean reached around him to replace the picture on the shelf and grab another. He wasn’t glowing or teasing anymore - he looked...wilted. The picture of Sam and the shorter man in his hands. What Castiel deduced, must be Dean himself when he was alive. Damnit. The Winchesters had good genes.

 

“I really fucked this up Sammy.” Dean whispered, like he had forgotten Castiel was even there. But he sounded - God confound - he sounded broken. Castiel didn’t know what to make of it. 

 

But before he even could, Dean was gone. Along with the picture that must be his object. Castiel happily used that full name in all the curses he knows then.


End file.
